In the midst of this media-hyped global economic crisis, it seems harder
than ever to fight for creative causes when there are rent payments due.
It wasn’t until I read Naomi Klein’s writing that I began to truly understand
the importance of vehicles such as music, poetry, art, and film to influence
social and political change.
This issue of Exposure Lifestyles was born from my curiosity to
understand how individuals in Aotearoa’s creative communities use their
passion to affect change in society. What that ‘change’ looks like depends on
who they are, where they’re from, the stories they have to tell, and what they
want to achieve from their work. Every person interviewed in this issue felt
a deep connection towards producing work that meant something to them
and gave something back to their audiences. They showed me that it doesn’t
take an army to create a movement or advocate for change; it takes personal
dedication, sweat, blood, tears, good ideas, and a whole lotta passion!
In the past, standing on a soapbox in Hyde Park and shouting was the
way it was done. These days, protest exists in our songs, film scripts, poems,
digital downloads, well-crafted reviews, music festivals and, always, always
in the beating heart of our struggles. Challenging the status quo and our habit
of ‘doing things because we’ve always done them’ was something we felt was
worthy of a reminder in these recessionary times. To change the way text runs
across a page, to pay typographic homage to one of our great painters, and to
reveal intimate tit-bits alongside important conversations with the incredible
individuals in this issue was our way of adding to the debate. We leave it
in your hands to take the discussions off the page and on to your internal
soapboxes. Enjoy!
PAT

SEEKING HARMONY
Music is as much a fundamental human experience as
eating, drinking, procreating, and sleeping. People of
all ages, races, religions, times, and places experience
music in some form, at some stage in their lives.
For many of us, music is an integral part of
everyday living, whether it be through traditional
ceremony or as a full-time job. According to author,
musician, and neurologist, Oliver Sacks, “Music can
move us to the heights or depths of emotion. It can
persuade us to buy something, or remind us of our first
date. It can lift us out of depression when nothing else
can. It can get us dancing to its beat. But the power
of music goes much, much further. Indeed, music
occupies more areas of our brain than language does
– humans are a musical species.”
We humans have played music since the very
beginning. No one knows why because we don’t need
it to survive. Why then, when there are so many other
things necessary to living, do humans invest so much
time creating, engaging in, and listening to music?
Perhaps there is no point attempting to answer this
question as the fact remains, we all need music.
Amidst that need is a deeply held belief in the
power of music to create social change. We are social
beings; we rely on each other in every sphere of life.
As has been sung many times before, by musicians

4

as diverse as folk’s, Joan Baez, to reggae’s, Dennis
Brown, “No man is an island, no man stands alone.”
Equally, it must be said that no woman is an island
and no woman stands alone. Whether we like it or
not, we co-exist. Just as every act and every motion
we make has an impact, every chord progression and
lyric affects another. Every moment of every day, new
experiences add to our bodies of knowledge, which in
turn shape the way we see the world. To a greater or
lesser extent, we are all a part of each other’s sphere
of influence.
In this sense, social change is a constant. It can
be a massive shift in social structures and institutions,
or a small change in societal relations, behaviour, and
communities. Just as each ant brings another grain of
sand to the hill, each person on this planet is adding to
the ever-changing direction of the social world. What’s
more, some people have much greater influence in
changing that direction than others. This is where
the problem lies, which many musicians and artists
have identified, in the imbalance of power in society.
By song and art, they have attempted to speak for the
oppressed, the environment, and the speechless.
The majority of the world’s people are poor; they
are the ‘othered’, the marginalised, the women and
children. More often than not they are defenseless and

powerless. You may take someone’s right to selfdetermination, to adequate clothing, shelter, food,
and water, but there is one thing that can never be
taken away – freedom of thought. The music lives in
our minds. When white America stole Africans and
sold them into slavery, their salvation was in the songs
they would sing as they were forced to work. When
the indigenous peoples of South Africa were oppressed
under Apartheid, their survival existed in four-part
harmony. As Uncle Bob once sung, “Emancipate
yourselves from mental slavery. None but ourselves
can free our minds.” Ani DiFranco states, “Any tool
is a weapon if you hold it right.” Time and time again
throughout history, recorded and remembered, music
has been a well-held tool for change.
In this day and age, here in Aotearoa, life is
pretty good. We are the lucky ones. But there is
always room for improvement, and there are plenty
of other people who need our help. Aotearoa is part of
a global musical community where we are constantly
bombarded with messages through song. And most of
it is from pop music, which, depending on the person,
can encompass genres as diverse as rock, reggae,
country, soul, funk, RnB, and folk. As Pete Townshend
said, “The effect pop has on society is incredible. It’s
a powerful thing.”
There are a huge number of musicians out there
currently having their say on a vast number of topics,
from climate change to capitalism, from racism to
sexism. As the late South African reggae singer, Lucky

Dube, said, “Musicians have always educated people
through music… Music, I think, should be teaching
and talking to people about important things in life.”
Whether you are a passionate lover of music or a
passive listener, to some extent, we all absorb the
messages that music sends us.
Is it the responsibility of the musician to speak
consciously and eloquently about the ills of the world
and provide solutions? Does music serve a different
purpose now than it once did? I believe that as we are
all human and therefore dependent on one another,
we have a collective responsibility to each other. I
am answerable to you, just as you are to me. Music
provides us with a great opportunity that should not
be overlooked. We can use it wisely or recklessly.
Tim Buckley once said, “You can daydream with music
... it takes you away and creates a new world.” I like
to think that we are all personally creating new worlds
and that we can all somehow, as the great, Mahatma
Gandhi hoped, “Be the change you want to see in
the world.” I stand with Joan Baez when she says,
“My devotion to social change will go on until I fall into
the grave.” But then again, perhaps John Lennon was
right when he said, “It’s just a song man, it doesn’t
mean anything.”
With the highest regards to those featured in this
issue, and to those who weren’t and should have been
but didn’t fit! Finally of course, to Pat, for making it
happen yet again. With the deepest bow of respect
and gratitude, my hat goes off to you.

5

6

You may not have
realised it, but Nick has
been perched on the
edge of your earlobes
for decades; coaching,
critiquing, and generally
making sense of the
music that enters your
auditory entranceway.
You’re most likely to hear
him on National Radio’s,
The Sampler, and come
across him nestled in
amongst the music pages
of The Listener.
Photography by Guy Coombes
Interview by Age Pryor

What led to you becoming a music journalist?
I think music led me to being a music journalist. I sometimes say I was a
musician first, but when I think back, they’re parallel passions I had ever since
I was a kid. My dad was a writer.
I got this little printing press when I was about 10, a tiny little hand printer
thing, with wax stencils, and I used to make a school newspaper: I gathered
the material during the week, printed it every Sunday night and stapled it up,
25 copies or so, and I’d take it to school on Monday morning and hand it out in
the playground. I was the music critic for that paper! Sometimes I had to write
the whole thing myself, but other kids contributed too.
How about becoming a musician?
I drifted into it. When I left school, as far as I could tell, there was no
prescribed career path for being either a musician or a music journalist. I
kept asking what am I going to do? I worked on building sites, in warehouses
and things. But when I was 18 or 19 I joined Rough Justice, which was Rick
Bryant’s band, and that was a fulltime job. Rick hadn’t done anything except
play music for years. I got into that band because I’d already joined The Windy
City Strugglers, which was the opposite, that was really part-time.
Did you play with other bands?
Yeah a lot of shorter-lived bands: in the early ’90s a band called The Pauas, me
and Alan (Norman), plus Steve Roche and Neil Duncan from The 6 Volts, who’d
just split up. I played in the Pelicans in the early ’80s, and The Living Daylights
in the late ’80s.
And after The Pauas it just reverted to the Strugglers. It’s funny, other
bands have come and gone, but the Strugglers has been ongoing, ever since
I was a teenager.
So when did you start writing for a job?
That’s something I drifted into even more than music. It was the mid-eighties,
after Rough Justice had broken up. I’d been to Teacher’s College, and during
that time I was flatting with the woman who was editor of Salient, and she
needed a reviewer. At the same time I was involved with Radio Active, doing
a soul music programe. And while I was there, Charles Mabbot, who was the
station director then I think, he was the Listener’s music reviewer. And he
was leaving, so he said, “you should be doing this job.” I put a little portfolio
together, stuff I’d written for Salient and that kind of thing, and took that along
to them. And I got the job – that was 20 years ago.

7

In terms of music journalism, if somebody feels that their writing should
be of a high standard, can it become more about them than about the
functionality of a music review?
For sure, that’s a real trap. I guess one thing I have done is read a lot of
criticism. I like reading criticism of any variety, so for example someone like
Pauline Kael who was a New York film reviewer, her pieces are just exemplary
pieces of criticism. You don’t even have to agree with her, although she’s very
persuasive. But basically they’re beautiful pieces of writing, in every sense:
the way they’re structured, the way the arguments are presented; they’re
humourous, plus her frame of reference is really wide, so any film she sees
she can immediately put it in a context, without being patronising. She’s
sharing her knowledge with you. So someone like that, basically it’s a lesson
in how to write any kind of criticism.
You were a kids TV star, you’re a musician and a behind the scenes
reviewer. Are you an extrovert or introvert?
It’s interesting. I notice it in the Strugglers, because they’re essentially a
band of introverts. But I think musicians mostly are. Being on stage is what
you’ve got to do to be a musician. It’s almost a paradox. Playing music is
essentially an introspective occupation – if you’re going to do it with any
depth, it’s something that takes you into yourself and you’re pulling stuff out,
and then you’re sharing it. But you know, doing all that stuff in public is quite
a strange thing!
And what about you as an actor?
That was a one-off thing, when I was about 10 or 11. It was a fantastic
experience actually. I think because of my cousin Alun (Bollinger), who was
10 years older, and a NZ Broadcasting Corporation cameraman, he was part
of that whole circle of people that became BLERTA, you know, Geoff Murphy,
Bruno Lawrence, and all those people. At that point they hadn’t quite gone
independent, making their feature films. They were busy hovering around
the fringes of the NZBC, being anarchic, and disruptive, and making television
programmes, and being paid for it! And this guy called Derek Morton, who
was definitely part of that enclave, a real bohemian, he directed this show
called Kidset, a kids television show, and honestly there’s nothing today on
TV that’s as radical as that programme was, in the late ’60s. It was a
programme with a cheesy presenter, and the kids would routinely embarrass
him, or beat him up, tie him to his chair and the kids took over the show,
and this was really symbolic, this is what Derek wanted to do with
television, with the world!
And you had a lead role in this?
I had a couple of roles in it, one was reviewing
comics. And actually yeah, when I think about it,
that was my first paid job as a reviewer. It was
called Comic Comment.

8

What’s the difference between your personal music
energy and the energy for exploring others’?
I only play music with other people, and at it’s best
it becomes easy, because when everything’s locking
together, you’re just one person in the canoe, and
the power of all these people together really shifts it
somewhere you could never go on your own. That’s a
great feeling.
With writing you have to generate the energy yourself.
If the music’s got you excited it makes it easier to write.
I find it really hard, even dispiriting to write about things
I don’t like.

me that their lives were changed by hearing The Beatles
or Bob Dylan, to believe it – to believe that the actual
course their life took was different, and that they can trace
it directly to hearing a piece of music. Stanley Booth, one
of my favourite writers on music, says, “In the sixties we
believed in a myth that music had the power to change
people’s lives. Today people believe in a myth that music
is just entertainment.”

Do you choose not to write negative reviews?
Often.

What’s going to happen to the toothpaste though!?
It’s just going to spread everywhere … obviously the old
gatekeepers have lost control of the gates. For some
reason though it’s typical of this era – I wonder how
degraded a version of something can get before people
dismiss it. I mean the idea of watching a feature film on
a cellphone or an iPod boggles my mind! A wide-screen
TV’s bad enough! It’s like people just get the sketchiest
idea of what that thing’s meant to be. Then again, when I
was a kid I used to listen to a crappy old transistor and
The Beatles would come crackling through that, and it
was enough of the message for me to respond.

Is that a policy?
No … it brings me down writing negative stuff I think.
I’m not saying it can’t be intoxicating to do it sometimes,
and I think some writers get really hooked on that,
but I think it’s a bit dangerous too. I have to say, if I do
write a negative review, it’s usually from some sense of
responsibility. (laughs)
Also as a critic you’ve got to be honest, you owe that
to your readers. And you’re not in the business of writing
people’s press releases, a critic’s first responsibilty is to
your reader.
Is there a sensitivity between being a reviewer and
a musician?
No. For me, not at all. I think that continuing to play
music informs your criticism, it’s a good thing. It reminds
you constantly of how hard it is to make good music, a
good record. I mean I’m totally aware of my failings as
a music maker … but I know how bloody hard it can be
to make music.
Do you believe in the power of music to change the
world?
Yeah that’s really interesting. It’s a huge question. There’s
a song on Neil Young’s new album I think called ‘A Song
Can’t Change The World’(laughs) ... yeah I think broadly
music can change the world. But music is not a separate
thing either. It’s very hard to completely disentangle it
from all the other social forces going on. It’s an important
part of all that. Now if you look at the Flower Power era,
you know, I’ve heard enough people of that generation tell

And the digitisation of music. What do you see happening?
I think the toothpaste is out of the tube, and you can’t get it
back in!

Is there a NZ music? How do we musicians find/create it?
Yeah there is a NZ music, in the same way that there’s an
American music or an English music. But you see, if you
scratch English music, and you don’t have to scratch very
hard, you’ll find layers of American music, like The Rolling
Stones and The Beatles you know. And NZ is the same. It’s
NZ music because it’s made by New Zealanders, and often
without even thinking, New Zealanders reflect something
of themselves, they don’t even realise it. The best stuff
is a bit unconscious. If you think about the number of NZ
songs that use the sea as a metaphor, and distance, and
this idea of travel, all those ones like Whaling, and Six
Months In A Leaky Boat, and Gutter Black, they’re all about
vast distances. I don’t think any of those people sat down
and said, “I’m going to write a real NZ song now”, but of
course all of those people had that experience that the
rest of the world is so far away, and they felt like bloody
pioneers trying to take their music overseas. So I think
it’s unconscious but definitely NZ – no one in England or
America would have written those songs.

Childhood hiding spot: In the pines near our house in Kelburn, or at the back of the Record Specialists in town.
Book that shaped you: Lost Highway by Peter Guralnick made me want to write about musicians; Huckleberry Finn
by Mark Twain made me want to see the Mississippi.
Advice you’ve never forgotten: As a critic, never say anything in print you wouldn’t be prepared to say to the face of
the person you are writing about.
Inspiring website: Journal of the Institute For Astrophysics and the Hillbilly Blues: www.celestialmonochord.org/

9

10

Armed with a Houdini hat that houses a thousand
imaginations, Gaylene, navigates the way she
sees the world onscreen and shares with us the
stories from her past. Those stories are like her
headgear: playful, complicated, practical, and
just a little bit magic.
Gaylene, what can you tell me about this film you’re working on
at the moment?
Home By Christmas is an interview-based film. I interviewed my
old dad before he died. He had never wanted to talk about the
War, but in the end he did. He did it once, and he did it on a tape
recorder for me. After that, he never mentioned the War again. In
the film we have a reconstructed interview. You know there’s an
actor in a costume, who has studied how my father spoke and
researched how he moved, and he is giving the interview.
So this film is a return to your parents’ experiences in
the Second World War, experiences you investigated
previously in War Stories Our Mothers Never Told Us.
How have you returned to this story again?
In a way I suppose with these films I have been investigating
why my world was as it was when I was little. Your parents’
relationship is always most mysterious. Mine had a war in it. There
was ‘before the war,’ and ‘after the war,’ and a place not talked
about – ‘during the war’ – that was like a secret place.
What things do you consider when bringing an interview to
life onscreen?
It has to have all the hallmarks of any great performance: clarity,
immediacy, and emotional connection. This flows from pure truth
being expressed clearly onscreen.
People who can tell the same story over and over, they’re not
really giving you their memory of what happened. They’re giving
you their memory of how they tell that particular story. That doesn’t
work so well onscreen as pure memory. Pure memory is far more
emotionally connected. When I’m doing an interview I’m always
trying to listen for that truth.

Secret vice: Taking calls in the bath.
Could not do without: My swanky German hot water bottle.
Fav big hair band of the ’80s: Rocking Horse – a local band with not
particularly big hair, but I bet they have less now!
Your spiritual place in Aotearoa: Now that I have sold the woolshed
– I guess it’s the woolshed. The folks in Golden Bay will never
see the back of me.
Photography by Amelia Handscomb
Interview by Toby Laing
11

But Home By Christmas is a reconstructed interview?
Yes, and it’s a filmmaking challenge that delivers riches
if you can get it right. When you film a real interview, you
have one camera and you have a real person who tells
you a story. Now if you’re lucky and they’re a brilliant
storyteller, they might be able to repeat the truth in the
storytelling once at the most.
In Home By Christmas I have two cameras and
an actor channeling. We do takes – each one subtly
different. Tony Barry is particularly good at connecting
with the emotional truth. Very invigorating.
That’s an interesting hat!
I was fortunate to receive an Arts Laureate Award from
the New Zealand Arts Foundation. It’s an award for a
mid-career artist. It’s to honour your past work and to
encourage your future work. I realized that being ‘P’ for
‘Preston’, my award would be at the end of a long evening
and that some levity might be required.
Joe Bleakley and I designed this hat for the
occasion. What kind of hat does a mid-career artist
need Toby?
A hard hat.
A hard hat! Had a few knocks! Guard against future brain
damage! We also have a light on top to light the way so
the artist may proceed into the future with confidence.
There’s also a light on the back (strobing red emergency
light). We have a past! Which is why the hat also has
the rear vision mirror so that we have a selective view
- particularly good for interviews. You can also use it to
see young artists coming up behind you and possibly trip
them up so that then you can ‘help’ them! Then as they
proceed into their glorious future they can mention you!
There is a feather duster on the top of the hat because
I am a multi-tasking female artist. A woman’s work is
never done. There is also a horn (which hoots loudly) so
that other lesser beings can get out of the way to let you
through and of course on the back of the hat there is an
‘L’ plate. ‘L’ for ‘Laureate’ and finally there are wings for
thoughts. Regardless of how earthbound you are, you
need to let your thoughts fly!

www.gaylenepreston.co.nz

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13

14

Teremoana threw out the rule book along with the notations before they had
a chance to settle in for a lifetime. Decades on, she is still making music first
and foremost for herself. As a musician, mother, wife of King Kapisi, websitemaker, Anime fan, and ferocious reader, she lives by the unruliness of her
passion to always speak out when she’s got something to say.

How did music influence you before you
joined Upper Hutt Posse (UHP)?
My earliest memory of music was from
as early as four years old. I remember singing
the Rainbow Song from The Muppet Show in bed. To this day, I
still don’t know all the words, but I knew I could pick up a tune
unusually fast. My mum and dad always had music around. I know
Gene Pitney tunes, The Beatles, The Everly Brothers etc. That was
my dad’s choice of music. My mum listened to popular music at the
time and sprinklings of Charley Pride, Freddy Fender, Engelbert
Humperdinck, Donna Summer – mostly party music and anything
that could be played on a uke and guitar.
When I was seven, my parents separated and I lived with my
mum. I went from a middle-income family to your standard low
socio-economic household where alcohol and drugs were the
chosen painkiller for any grown-up concerns. By the time I was nine,
I was working in a dairy that paid me in food. I was a mathematics
whiz with the ability to work out transactions in my head. Then I
progressed to delivering local papers, and later helping my mum
with her job. She was a cleaner at the local high school and various
buildings in Lower Hutt City. With my very first pay packet I bought
my very first tape deck. By the age of 14, I had made myself a ward
of the state so I could receive a benefit to pay for me to catch the
train to school. I lived 18kms away from high school and when we
had no money I used to cycle to school, leaving around 5am.
I always managed to be part of the school choir and kapa haka
group through school, but it wasn’t until I got to high school that I
had an official singing lesson. I didn’t understand much of what
my singing teacher was trying to teach me (she tried to train me
for opera). The only aspect of her lessons I use still to this day is
the ability to hold a note for a really long time due to her teaching
me the ‘opposite’ way of breathing whilst singing. School and
music were my saviours for the day-to-day madness. I listened
to Radio Active’s Wednesday Night Jam (Mark Cubey, Rockit V,
Rhys B, TP, KOS163).
My late step-dad had the most influence on me in terms of
music. He had all the Bob albums, Zapp, The Ohio Players, The
Heptones, Chaka Khan, Led Zeppelin, Frank Zappa – a mixture
of funk, rock, and reggae. We had a good relationship in terms of
understanding good music.
Photography by Terry Klavenes
Interview by Eliorah Malifa

15

Anything musical in school came natural, but I
couldn’t get into the groove of the music class in high
school. I was in the choir for a minute but the technical
jargon threw me off. Music was something that I felt
and expressed, not what I read off a piece of paper
following notation. Rules took the joy out of music for
me. Music was and still is approached with no rules.
By the time I joined the posse I had something to say.
It’s just that it has taken me over 20 years to get it on
an album for release.
How important has it been for you to showcase your
own beliefs through your music?
There was no conscious thought to showcase my own
beliefs. I write as I feel. I sing as I feel. I read a lot. I
listen a lot. I observe a lot. I once wrote and sang a
radio commercial for Coke because it paid the rent for
a couple of months. There is music to pay the bills.
There is music that I express from the deepest, darkest,
and brightest recesses of my life experience. One gets
constant airtime (and paper), the other doesn’t.
How do you see your music influencing the younger
generation?
I don’t see my music influencing the younger generation
at all. I think this interview and the stories that come
from my experience in life will be more influential.
Influencing the younger generation through music
has to be coupled with my image, marketing, and the
commodification of my music. I don’t cater my music
specifically to anyone except for myself. Music is the
only aspect of my life that is truly selfish. I am only
concerned with influencing our own children and
growing our boys into good men. We have four boys
aged 8–16 years of age.
Does the YouTube and bebo era impact the way your
music is listened to?
I made a conscious decision 10 years ago that I
would utilise the Internet to release my music. I then
proceeded to learn how to make a website and learn
graphic software. It came natural to me because I had
started learning music software back in the late eighties
(Dr. T on an Atari 1040ST) and then continued learning
music hardware through the nineties. I actually created
a few websites and run them myself. So more aptly, the
Internet is a definite tool for me to release my music. It
is just another distribution channel.

16

What DVDs or music have you got on repeat lately?
I will usually buy all the latest local releases and listen
to them at most twice (everything from The Mint Chicks
to Nat Rose). I listen to old Stevie Wonder, the Classic
Hits radio station, and my music. I work on average
16–20 hours a day, seven days a week. Not much time
is used for listening to other people’s music. I collect
comics and toys, so I watch a lot of Anime and Madman
releases in my down time. I read a lot too. In fact my
husband set up a room in our house dedicated as a
library for all my books and comics. Everything that
interests me from Adam Smith’s, Wealth of Nations, to
Frantz Fanon’s, Wretched Earth, to Black Dots’, Hip-Hop
Decoded, to the Kebra Nagast. Knowledge is Power.
You’ve collaborated with many strong indigenous Kiwi
acts; is there a shared social view that draws you to
work with them?
We seemed to be in the same place at the same time.
I joined the posse because DLT’s (original DJ for UHP)
girlfriend at the time had a little sister that I knew at
school and she knew that I rapped. Moana (Maniapoto)
picked me up from a tour that UHP did in the late
eighties. She could see that I had the potential to add
something to the Moahunters so I joined the group. By

this time I had moved to Auckland and I was living in
the city with the UHP boys. Moana and her husband at
the time took me in. Everyone else I’ve worked with I’ve
met on my journeys. You tend to hang with or attract
like-minded people.
On your website you say, “I had to let it be for a while,
well, let the bullsh*t industry be…” How has your
career been affected by the music industry?
Recently, I had a casual conversation with someone
about the Pacific Music Awards (PMA). I told them
that I was initially dead against trying to run our own
music awards alongside the RIANZ Music Awards
(RMA). What was the point of giving PI musicians an
award for their achievements that have no true bearing
in the real world music industry? They get an award
and then what? The person informed me that the RMA
were dropping the PI category and that is one of the
reasons why they decided to start the PMA. Therefore,
acknowledgement of music that is not geared for
‘commercial’ airplay would either be squashed by

RMA’s decision or uplifted by its own people (PMA). This
justifies an award if only to give back to these musicians
their self-esteem as quality artists who may never make
it into the mainstream as long as RIANZ had a say in it.
So I had to change my tune slightly but threw in the fact
that there needs to be real support for these artists and
not by funding grants only. They need to pick up their
business skills and be shown ways to make a living off
their skills. We ended the conversation in agreement.
The industry operates by selling mindless music
rather than the actual art form or its creators. I
always knew there was a game to be played (like
every industry) and I didn’t like it. Then one day all of
the negative and positive elements fell into place and
that was when I knew I had to figure out an alternative
route to get my music heard. You have to have a deep
belief in yourself and your skills as a singer/songwriter
that is un-fuck-able, even by you. In order for me to get
to that point, it took time, experience, maturity, growth,
my children, love, and copious amounts of pain.
www.teremoana.com

If you were a comic strip, which would you be? Garfield
Something your children have taught you: Patience – so in turn has raised my tolerance level for bull-shit.

Ragamuffin Children
recently released
their latest, and
most superbly
crafted album, The
Seahorse Emporium,
into the musical
ocean, climbed out of
their sea-faring tour
boat, and took time to
reflect on why they do
what they do so well.
Photography by Pat Shepherd
Illustration by Anita Clark
Interview by Kerry Donovan-Brown

What are the key factors to working successfully and creatively together?
Brooke: As long as we are all heading in the same direction musically, and
respect each other’s opinions and talents, things seem to go swimmingly.
Anita: Not to take things so seriously. That is a big thing for me. We work
hard towards things and spend a great deal of time organising and being
businessy, as well as being creative, but it needs to be fun. As soon as
things become boring, you have lost the plot somewhere along the line.
We have definitely had our arguments, so respect towards each other is
also a huge thing to consider.
Ben: I’m happy as long as it’s always forward in a musical sense. People say
that Ragamuffin Children’s sound is maturing. For me, that’s a wonderful
thing. We seem to be taking steps towards working together a lot more by
jamming together and creating layers and connections rather than taking
more niff-like, singular, boxed steps towards a track.
Have your beliefs been profoundly influenced by a particular artist?
Anita: Our beliefs come more from reading books and researching. I think
for me, musical influence is strictly musical. I don’t look to see what their
belief systems are before I listen!
Brooke: My beliefs come from all around; books, the media, other people’s
opinions. Ani DiFranco and John Butler Trio inspired me when I was
younger, and Trinity Roots for the things they talked about in their music.
Ben: I think I’ve taken on most beliefs, tumbled them around inside my
head for a while and then spewed them back out into the cosmos – keeping
all the nutritious bites and poises. Cosmos by Sun Ra had a big effect inside
my head just before I met the Ragamuffins. “It’s times like these you’re
reminded of what you already know.”
Myth and folklore can carry powerful messages. What fairytale or
nursery rhyme do you think we should turn to for guidance?
Ben: I guess it could be someone’s fairytale, but I always liked George
Orwell’s, 1984, and from my school days, Animal Farm. Those two
novels got me thinking at a young age about the greater world.

19

Fav childhood toy: A wombat called Douglas. I still have him. I had imaginary cat friends also. (Anita)
What scares you? Being in the dark and not knowing what’s in it. I’m also afraid of driving on steep gravel roads. (Brooke)

What makes you laugh out loud? Animals doing funny things and farts at the wrong times. (Tui)
Anita: I’m going to say Hansel and Gretel. One of
the big problems in the world is the greed of people.
That is possibly the thing that annoys me the most. If
Hansel and Gretel weren’t so greedy in trying to eat
the whole house of gingerbread, the witch wouldn’t
have captured them.
Where would you draw the corporate sponsorship
line?
Anita: The line is quite a vague one, but if it disagrees
with our morals, then we won’t do it. There’s no point
doing something one of us would regret…
Brooke: There is always complete freedom as to what
we choose to attach our name to. I don’t think we would
ever feel pressure to do something for money if we did
not think it was a moral decision. We would not endorse
a product that involved cruelty to animals for example.
Do you think musicians are in a good position to
educate listeners about social issues?
Brooke: I think to a degree musicians are certainly able
to educate their particular audience on social issues or
at least let their audience know their personal opinion
on an issue. Some artists are more inclined to do this
than others.
Anita: I don’t think that as a band we try to educate
people about social issues, and I’m not really sure that
it should be up to us either. Everybody has different
opinions but mostly everyone is on the same page (or
maybe only the kind of people I know?)
Ben: As a band, I think we’re too young to try and
educate others about social issues. This comes
with living a life and experiencing life situations. For
example, pioneering folk like John Lennon used their
fame and music to educate people about world crisis.
There’s always a fine line between social issues and
publicity. The music industry goes hand in hand with
advertising and publicity stunts. It makes it hard to
believe everything you hear or see.

20

Whose role do you think it is to teach our generation
about social issues?
Brooke: I guess the role falls to anyone who chooses
to take it. Obviously there is a huge network of social
and political campaigners and organisations who
make an amazing difference, but really, every person
has the means to impart knowledge to another if they
want to, and everyone can find out information about
an issue if they decide they want to be informed. It’s
a personal choice.
Ben: Anyone can take the role as a knowledge-giver
although not everyone is good at it. Kids are the next
generation. Install amazing, true knowledge upon them
and then hopefully things may get better.
What do you hope to achieve with the music that
you make?
Anita: To stay creative always. As long as I’m happy
with what I’m doing and achieving, that is a good thing.
I never really made the decision to become a musician,
it just kind of happened. So who knows, maybe I might
make a career change along the way ... and become
a lawyer.
Ben: Everyone is different. I do treat music as a bit of
a hobby. I also use it as a release and as a learning
tool. I hope that the music I create in any given role
carries throughout time. I don’t want it to be popular in
the now but picked up by my kids and my kids’ kids etc.
Too much music these days is attached to popular
culture. It all seems a bit disposable, short-term,
and convenient.
Brooke: A life of doing something I like doing. If all
else fails I will become an undercover spy working for
Animal Rights organisations worldwide, and admired
for my incredible, ninja-like stealth. Music should be
seen as a viable job, not a hobby, and people sometimes
overlook this.
www.myspace.com/ragamuffinchildren

The man is a living legend,
politically conscious,
crusader for the rights of
his people, and frontman
for the reggae band Unity
Pacific. Tigilau has been
making music that matters
for decades and was
recognised for this with a
Lifetime Achievement
Award at the recent S3
Pacific Music Awards.
Photography by Pat Shepherd
Interview by Warren Maxwell

Do you think we will ever see anything like
the Dawn Raids of the early ’70s or the 1981
Springbok protests ever again?
Yes. 31 years ago I wore my Polynesian Panther
T-shirt down Queen St in Auckland City, marching in
protest against Auckland City Council and the New
Zealand Government’s joint action in evicting Ngāti
Whātua off their own lands up at Bastion Point. You
know how that ended.
31 years later on exactly the same day I wear
my Polynesian Panther T-shirt, marching up Queen
St in Auckland City in protest hikoi against the same
joint actions of the same joint people – Auckland
City Council with its Mayor and the New Zealand
Government with its Prime Minister – yet again
acting jointly in a similar greedy, racist, and
oppressive manner. To the same people! My people!
The Dawn Raids? Well, the so-called T Raids they
did on Tame (Iti) and a whole lot of sleeping families
down the East Coast in the early hours of the
morning kind of rings a bell doesn’t it? They won’t
change. We won’t change either. You know how this
is going to end ay Warren?

If you could go back in time and change anything
in your life, what would it be?
No changes. No regrets. I am that I am.

22

23

Your most memorable musical moment?
Last Saturday night at the S3 Pacific Music Awards when
they surprised me onstage after I had received the Award
for Lifetime Achievement in Music, and Che Fu and The
Krates struck up my song, From Street to Sky. They were
hidden behind the curtains! I joined in and sang with my
beloved son in whom I am well pleased. Still, as they say,
the best musical moment is yet to appear.
What are the key ingredients to composing music that
‘sounds’ like it comes from Aotearoa?
Guitar and vocal harmony are two ingredients. Pacific
flavour is another. Then you have language, which is Reo.
The younger generations will hopefully be educated
as to what you and so many others did for all New
Zealanders back in the ’70s and ’80s so that it never
happens again. Do you feel like we still need to be
vigilant towards exposing corruption?
We have to be today, more vigilant than ever before.

What new battles do you see Māori, Pacific, and
Polynesian peoples needing to address in these
modern times?
New battles? Ok, what about the scourge of the evil
drug ‘P’? Declare war on it. Make some noise about
Chinese organised crime lords targeting our country
and the corrupt so-called pillars of society here who
are profiting from it. Do something about it. What about
war on illiteracy and poverty? Loneliness and hunger?
If you are eligible to vote, did you? What about war
on pollution? Shall I start on the racism that still
exists here?
Lastly e te Rangatira – any advice for aspiring young
musicians wanting to make a career in the musicbidnezz?
Be true to yourself most of all, practice every day at what
you really want to do with music, and, if you hang with the
best, you become the best.
www.myspace.com/unitypacific

Piece of New Zealand history that should never be forgotten: The Second World War. ANZAC.

25

26

Photography by Pat Shepherd
Interview by Loren Horsley

Keisha is a household name. She’s like the butter to your bread
or the milk to your muesli. She’s also deeply passionate about
important goings on in the world, and how our lives are shaped
by the storytelling we are exposed to.
What campaign would you put your name and face to?
I would love to see Yellow Ribbon Trust come back. It was unfortunate that their
funding was cut. They represent the very important issue of teen suicide. It is relevant
to New Zealanders as we have extremely high rates of suicide here, and I don’t believe
it is talked about enough. Pushing things under the carpet is useless. Talking about
it does not encourage others to do the same, but rather helps parents see the signs
and shows teens that they’re not alone in how they feel. It teaches them that there are
other options.
Does film have a responsibility to examine social issues or is it acceptable for it to
be purely escapist?
I believe there is room for both types of story telling. There is nothing more wonderful
than going to a cinema and totally immersing yourself in it, feeling emotions in the
dark, and forgetting about the world. I also love that through film we can learn about
issues that we are ignorant about. It’s a fantastic way to learn.
Do you have an ethical bottom line about what roles you would accept?
Yes. It’s not too rigid though. I work on a premise that I want to tell good stories and
I believe good stories come in all genres and in different forms of storytelling too.
There is always going to be a personal aspect to my work decisions, and I obviously
have to think hard about taking roles that may go on to affect my life after the film
has been released.
Interview continued on page 34
27

From the music of
Homefire Burning to
the reggae rhythms
of Nga Morehu,
Tihikura, takes his
place in the great
line of Parihaka
composers. Leaving
Wellington, and
concrete constraints
on creativity behind,
Tihikura returns to
the birthplace of his
ancestors to focus
on his solo work,
be with his whanau,
and nurture the
surrounding nature.

Photography and
interview by Pat Shepherd
Article written by Amie Mills
28

The story of Parihaka is embedded in the history of Aotearoa.
It has travelled the length of our country on museum crawls,
is written into our history books, and lives on in the music of
the annual Parihaka International Peace Festival. Tihikura
Hohaia and his father, Te Miringa Hohaia, are among the
entrusted ones to bring this festival to life, and breathe sweet
music into the hope and future of the Parihaka movement.
Enveloped by the beauty of the Taranaki landscape, Tihikura
has recently returned to his rural roots of Parihaka to assist
with the preservation of the festival site. Tihikura believes that
a powerful fulfilment comes from the physicality of this work,
“…[it] keeps you in good shape but you also draw spiritual
sustenance from the land. You get this energy; the sustenance
the land gives you because you’re giving to it.”
The concept of spiritual nourishment is one that surfaces
when talking about ngā mōrehu, which Tihikura translates
as ‘the survivors’, and the legacy of Parihaka for those
descendants, survivors, victims, and fighters of the violent
Land Wars. As Tihikura explains, “That is our legacy. It’s one
we can’t escape; one we don’t want to escape. We want to
sing about it and embrace it. You can either let yourself live in
darkness, bitterness, and hatred or you try and find light within
that. You try and create something for yourself out of what
you’ve got. It’s very easy to get dark and bitter when you read
about the history of Parihaka.” The beauty of this statement
comes from his understanding that for change and growth to
take place, we collectively need to find a way to ‘dress’ our
messages with hope. Once we have done that, we will bring
people with us. Tihikura describes his journey with writing
and singing music as a rhythmic remedy to keep him sane
and alive. It is much more than self-preservation though as
it affects those around him, “[There is a] wonderful sharing
that goes on between yourself and the audience and even
better when they ‘get’ you. You’re not hitting somebody over
the head at a protest rally, you are delivering this sweetness
that people are lapping up or eating. It is food for thought and
it’s a form that people will listen to from start to finish. It’s
such a wonderful, healing medium. Musicians from liberation
struggles around the world have realised that. It’s given
them life.”

29

As a necessary bed mate to this hope and belief in
the innate goodness of man however, are the armaments
of self-determination and fearlessness. Tihikura argues
that, “… you can’t just lie down and die otherwise justice
will never be served. You will get rolled over. You have
got to be assertive and that’s where I’m at in my music.
I see my music as a vehicle.” This vehicle exists to
speak truth and seek liberation. This raises a complex
question around the responsibility of audiences to
hear lyrical honesty. As Tihikura points out, “There is
a fine line between singing your truth and dumping on
people. I think people are hungry for roots music that
is rootsy, gutsy, honest, and the truth, but I do wonder
if they are really prepared for the truth, other than this
message of peace and love. You’re only going to have
peace when there’s justice and that’s what I sing about

stories to be heard out in their own ways. Tihikura’s
music is a more palatable and yet still powerful form
of this protest. It is also a unifying force in the face of
cultural alienation. According to Tihikura, an inevitable
outcome of the victimisation Māori suffered at the hands
of colonial violence was the internalisation of suffering,
“… you become estranged from your culture so you don’t
know who you are and where to turn when the pressures
of this foreign world envelop you, and quite often you
become foreign to your own culture.” It makes sense
then that spiritual connection to the land is as deeply
rooted as music is to the wellbeing and reparation of the
soul. As Tihikura points out, Māori were encouraged by
the Government of the time to move to the cities, and it
was during this diaspora that so many lost touch with
their cultural base and lost enormous tracts of land

Best kai to cook on a cold winter’s night: Watercress, lamb chops, and Māori potatoes.

Something your children taught you: Hold on tight.

What makes you laugh out loud: My tamariki /children.
Fav movie quote: “Oh Connor you can do that to me forever if you like!.” “Aye lass, I will” – The Highlander
in my songs.” Concepts of ‘peace, love, and justice’ have
become synonymous with outdoor music festivals but
as Tihikura carefully argues, “There is too much of it
out there.” I cannot help but feel that he is right and
that we face another bout of tokenism when it comes to
our outward embrace of ‘peace and equality’. If we are
to truly consider the reality of what that ‘peace’ might
look like, we need to fearlessly address inequality in our
society. Tihikura’s point is that we are naive to talk about
peace “… without really being prepared to address Māori
sovereignty and the proper standing of Māori in this
country. Once it is addressed, then I think you will really
start to see peace.”
There are reasons why Māori are overrepresented
in crime, substance abuse, and mental illness statistics.
As Tihikura believes, “… the causes of [this] are strongly
rooted in injustice and the hard thing in today’s society is
that [we] don’t really want to know about the injustice …
but it’s what needs to be spoken about and brought into
the open and cleansed.” He argues that the first stage of
dealing with these problems is accepting that they exist.
Apportioning blame is not a part of this process, but
understanding that “… one culture or system perpetrated
[injustice]”, is. It rests on our shoulders to allow those

30

through confiscation. As he puts it, “… we had no choice
but to take what was being handed out to us… When
that happened we really came under the hammer of the
justice system as we became visible in the cities and
that’s when we really became prey to the justice system.”
Decades on, the impacts of this reality are yet to lay
rest among the roots of the land, and until they do, we
need to continue singing their stories. Tihikura’s father,
Te Miringa, envisioned Parihaka International Peace
Festival as a tool to breathe passion and life into the
history of the place and the future of the movement.
Te Miringa, a respected musician in his own right, grew
up in Parihaka as a young man, became involved in the
Māori renaissance and activist movement, Ngā Tamatoa
(the Young Warriors), and moved back in the 1970s to
work among his people, raise a family, and show his
commitment to the place. Tihikura believes that his
father’s dedication and local support base are what
made it possible for him to get the festival off the ground.
Celebrating its fifth birthday next year, the Parihaka
International Peace Festival embodies world-class
eco-philosophies and sustainable environmental
practices. In the same way that the music and cultural
events at the festival are more than simply forms of

entertainment, the environmental ideology of the event
is more than just a public relations point of difference.
As Tihikura points out, “Our culture tells us intrinsically
that the earth is our mother and the sky is our father so
through linking into our cultural teachings we naturally
have an obligation to look after our mother. When
you’re running an event here we want to ensure that we
pass those messages to all our visitors who come.” He
acknowledges that it’s “really cool” how many of those
attending the festival arrive with historical understanding
in one hand, courtesy in the other, and, “… come to
tread lightly and respectfully.” One of the lessons to be
learnt from Parihaka is that remembrance is crucial
but so too is revival. A regeneration of responsibility to
the land throughout our lives is what Tihikura believes
should stay with us long after we walk away from
the event gates. “I hope people take that principle
beyond festivals and into their everyday lives. I think
festivals are a wonderful staging point to highlight
those issues, but I don’t believe that just because you’re
at a festival you wear that hat on a particular day. I
would hope that people wear that hat every day.”
For whatever reason people choose to sing, and
for how ever long we continue to dance in the firelight

of our ancestors, Parihaka reminds us that it shall not
be forgotten. As Tihikura believes, the legacy lives on
and there is much still to be done. “We are still fighting
for peace. The war is not over. Whether or not there is
so-called ‘peace’, we are at war internally. We are fighting
for this elusive justice; whether that be recognition of our
land rights, an end to patriachalism by the land courts
and land tenure system that dominates our farms, or the
ability of our people to administer certain areas of our
social lives, such as justice, education, and health. While
we’ve come a long way, we’ve got a long, long way to go
still.” His journey stretches ahead, the path seemingly
lined with weapons strung in purposeful harmony. “There
are all these songs, these verses that pass this history
down to the next generation. Whether [our ancestors]
know it or not, they have inspired me and I think they
knew what they were doing when they wrote this stuff.
Our history is passed down through song. There it is as a
gift, a taonga from our ancestors to us. What better way
to honour them than to continue?”
www.parihaka.com
charissa.waerea@twor.ac.nz

31

32

Photography by Pat Shepherd
Interview by Amie Mills

Talk us through some of your creative collaborations.
I have worked with a mixed bunch of artists. I’m a genre
jumper so I don’t really have one posse I work and grow
with – I have several. My line-up determines the sound I’m
going to achieve at each particular gig. At the moment, it’s
resulting in a blend of Petone reggae, soul, RnB, hip-hop,
country, silky ’30s jazz, and a big dose of Aotearoa chill
factor. On the CANDY release tour, I arranged it so that I was
working with four or five different line-ups and keeping it
fresh. Ultimately, my music is meditative and downbeat with
driving lyrics, but depending who rocks the rhythm section or
whether I perform with a horn section or a string section, it
can go to a new place each time. I used to write and tour with
Ecophonik (natural environment meets breaks) a few years
back, sang with some roots DJs and bands in acoustic groups
as a teenager, and now jam with some of Wellington’s finest,
hand-picked talent. My current band is amazing and they each
bring diverse musical backgrounds to the table adding to my
indistinguishable sound. I love getting the opportunity to jump
into a project as a vocalist/writer. Most of the time I’m the
driver of the project, so working on someone else’s tune is like
being a passenger on a scenic tour.
Do you believe that music has political significance?
Yes it can if you intend it to, either in a direct/topical way
or indirectly through social reflection. Music has always
been a vehicle for empowering and rallying the under-dog.
Most other media is controlled by people with money and is
fuelled with propaganda. Music is emotive, accessible, and
highly contagious, so it is a very effective political vehicle.
People open themselves up to music. It gets into your pores.
It infiltrates. Because it is perceived with an air of ‘fiction’, you
are seen merely as an ‘entertainer’ so you can get away with
saying a lot.

If Hannah Howes’
musical talent existed
as a tactile thing, it
would be a perfectly
formed, and ever-soslightly imprinted love
letter from a gently
spoken creature to its
passionate lover. Her
lyrics flicker across
the musical canvas
like dancers, and the
meaning of the songs
linger long after the
recently released,
CANDY, takes its final
curtain call.

Secret vice: Eating chocolates in bed when
I first wake up.
Fav childhood cartoon: Roadrunner. But it
always annoyed me that the Roadrunner got
away... Wylie Coyote was so hard done by.
Advice that’s inspired you: You don’t offer
anything by being small – by showing your
greatness, you give others the OK to shine. In
the same vein, don’t deflect praise – it’s an
outright insult that bums everyone out.

Interview continued on next page
33

Continued interviews…
interviews

Your lyrics often sound like poignant ‘calls to action’.
Can you explain your lyrical approach?
Lately social issues have taken more of a front seat in
my writing. Actually, the past few years I’ve probably
been talking in even proportions about mental state,
New Zealand state, world state, spiritual state, and
the state of my relationships. I write because of a
dense accumulation of experiences, people I meet,
conversations, dreams, or intuitive feelings I have. My
songs tend to unfold all at once after I have enough
reason to write them. I don’t really battle with them. I’ll
attempt them once or twice or five times but they only
make the record if they are completed in one sitting, and
if they have a timely quality they hold that immediacy
for me. In the past couple of years I only seem to sit
through the duration of the politically/socially charged
songs I’m writing. I tend to lose interest after not very
long when I’m writing about myself. The emotion passes
and I don’t go back to it. Or I start writing about myself,
get perspective, and then channel that emotion into
more key issues.
What other creative outlets keep you happy?
Eating ka pai kai with my family, hanging with my soul
sistas, and enjoying the gentle sounds of nature. I like
to make myself new clothes on the odd occasion. I have
a background in fashion and sculpture and where the
two cross.
Do you believe it’s important for musicians to use
their music as a platform to speak out?
I think it is important that musicians speak from
their true experience. If the state of the world or one
aspect of the world weighs on your mind, you have to
express your opinion. It is actually the responsibility of
every individual to take care of their community and
environment, express their opinion, and think beyond
our own situations. But where do you begin to find
words when the world’s media tells you something
entirely different from the truth? A lot of my lyrics are
born from conversations I’ve had. I have very inspiring
friends and have met inspiring strangers.
In my mind, the musical platform is becoming
saturated and it is the political songs that will stay
in the history of music forever.
www.myspace.com/hannahhowes
34

Do you find there is an expectation for you, as
tangata whenua, to be engaged in indigenous
and social issues?
I choose to only be involved in social issues I have
a passion for and also have knowledge about. It can
be quite easy to sign your name to a whole bunch of
different causes, but what happens if you don’t truly
care or are not totally aware of the issues? It
becomes redundant.
I am involved with WSPA for SAVE THE WHALES.
It is disgusting how inhumane the whaling methods
are still. I am also interested in climate change and
have just become a GREENPEACE Ambassador. Our
world doesn’t end when we do. I am very determined
to do my part to keep a resourceful world for my
daughter, grandchildren, and generations beyond.
Is there anyone you have worked with who inspired
you, not only in terms of creative talent, but in the way
they use their celebrity for the greater good?
Rawiri Paratene has a lot to do with The GREEN Party
and is an MP for my local region. I admire him for
standing up and taking that role on.
It always strikes me how appallingly wasteful the
screen industry is with resources. What is the most
extreme example of wastefulness you have seen in
your career?
I am very aware of the carbon footprint I create by
being a part of the film industry. The best I can do is
try to balance that out by living as eco-friendly a life
as I can every day. Simple things like ‘reduce, re-use,
recycle’ truly make a huge difference. I have seen a
lot of excessive waste in the industry. I can recall
being flown to London for two days for a costume
fitting! That’s pretty extreme.